The Lady Midnight: Origins
by snow1010
Summary: The story of Lady Midnight's past. *you don't have to read this story first. *It is meant to be read consectively or after The Lady Midnight.*


Prologue

1463, the Irish countryside

Smoke twisted like phantom snakes, fading away into the starry night. Flames feverishly ate the thatch roofs, the straw crackling with a roar. People rushed out of their homes, arms full of their smoldering belongings. Slick serpentine shapes darted through the haze of the thick smoke, launching themselves at the defenseless villagers.

Bloodcurdling screams rose into the air as the demons ripped into their flesh, blood soaking the earth.

The girl watched, wooden doll clutched to her chest, too frightened to move. The fire lit the tear tracks on her cheeks bright gold.

"Come, sweetheart, we have to go," her mother said, black ichor dripping from her gold hair. Her sharp features turned feral in the harsh shadows the inferno cast on the two.

The girl grasped her mother's free hand. In the corner of her eye, her mother's sword glowed a soft white-blue. She had always told her that the angels of God had given her that sword, that they had fashioned it with the stars and fire of Heaven.

With an incredibly hard grip, the woman pulled her daughter roughly behind her as one snake-like demon left its prey, drawn by the cold glow of the woman's sword. A guttural snarl spat from its bloody fangs.

The woman shoved the girl behind her as the demon coiled, tensed and launched itself into the air. The girl stumbled, legs folding underneath her. She fell into something hot, and wet. With shaky breath, she looked at her hands. Something dark and slick coated her skin. She could feel it dripping down her neck, soaking into her roughspun dress. Right in front of her was a blood-crusted hand, limp fingers almost beckoning to the girl. She could tell it was a woman. No man would have such slim, small hands.

Glazed, empty eyes reflected flames and shadows back at her. She swallowed the scream rising in her throat, fear coiling in her chest. Through the haze, she could make out the darting shapes of her mother and the demon, circling and circling each other, drawing close and away, like a dance. Through the slashes of her dress, the girl could make out the strange black angel marks lacing her skin.

When the demon reared, snapping at her mother again, she brought the sword down in a deadly arc, splitting the demon in half. It fell to the grass with a heavy wet thud.

The girl was pushing herself up when the thuds of horse hooves joined the cacophony of sounds. Relief flooded her, as she saw the marks decorating the armour of the knights. Nephilim.

But then there was confusion. Her mother narrowed her eyes, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. Black liquid slowly dripped off the softly glowing blade.

The head of the knight party stopped, while the others raced off to stop the other demons. He took off his helm, shaking out sweaty, stringy hair. The girl rose unsteadily to her feet, slowly approaching the pair. She couldn't hear what they were saying; the crackling of flames, the growling of the demons and the singing of blades through air filled the air.

Before she could reach out, the man withdrew a dagger and slashed out. Her mother's hands shakily reached up to her throat, blood splashing the man's snarling features. Her sword made a thud as it dropped to the ground.

The scream tore out of her throat. The girl charged towards him, and with as much strength a ten year old could muster, beat at him with small bloodstained hands. The man grabbed her by the wrists. Her feet lifted until her toes just grazed the ground as he lifted her, throwing her to the ground. Stars floated across her vision as her head snapped back, hitting the ground hard.

The man spat at them in disgust. He knelt down, yanking the sword from her mother's grasp.

"This does not belong to you," he snarled.

Then he left.

The girl knelt beside her mother, a small hand rising to stop the blood leaking from her wound. But her mother grasped her wrist in a bone-crushing grip.

"You have to-" her mother choked. Blood coated her chin, running down the sides of her face. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her throat. "I love you."

The girl sobbed. It felt like a hand was squeezing her chest, blocking the breath flowing in and out of her.

With shaking bloody hands, her mother unclasped her necklace, handing it to her daughter.

"You're special, more than you know," she whispered. Then with a sigh, she closed her eyes.

The girl let out a grief-stricken howl. She clutched the necklace to her chest, covered with ichor and her mother's blood.

With a voice as quiet as death, she whispered; "I will avenge you, Mother. I swear it."


End file.
